by Emma Slate
There was seating for eight people and a table for dining outside, all lit up perfectly to showcase expert craftsmanship and a real teak deck. A man appeared from a staircase just to the right of a set of sliding glass doors and he began to speak to Hadrian in low tones before disappearing again.
“I know just as much about yachts as I do jets,” I said to him, gliding my hand across the sleek stainless-steel handrail I’d been gripping.
Hadrian smiled. “Then I won’t bore you with too many specifics. This is Aegir. She’s an 80 Sunreef power catamaran, one of only seven like her in the world, and fully customized for me. But I promised you dinner. Take off your boots. I have deck shoes for you, or you can go barefoot.”
“Yes. Food and then bed, I think,” I said, my body tired from travel. I quickly pulled off my boots and followed Hadrian’s massive form across the deck.
Hadrian opened the sliding glass doors and we walked into a magnificent salon and dining room area with its own helm in the corner of the room, complete with a captain’s chair and all sorts of gadgets for navigation. He guided me toward a seat at a dining table and I slid into it, completely overwhelmed.
“You don’t even look tired. How is that possible?” I asked.
“I don’t sleep much to begin with,” he said with a rueful smile. “Maybe four hours a night.”
“Four hours?” I marveled. “How do you even function?”
“I’m a machine.”
One of the yacht crew came from below deck up a flight of stairs into the salon. He placed two steaming, unshelled lobsters in front of us along with a container of freshly melted butter. He then poured us two glasses of white wine from a bottle that had been chilling in an ice bucket on the table.
“I figured, why bother with salads?” Hadrian said.
I nodded. “Good, vegetables are gross anyway.”
Hadrian started to laugh, a booming sound that echoed off the walls of the dining area.
I derived a strange sort of pleasure from making him laugh. He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who laughed a lot and the thought made my heart lurch in sadness.
“Do you have friends, Hadrian?” I asked suddenly.
“Do you?” he countered.
I smiled.
He glowered. “What’s that smile for?”
“It’s not fun being on the receiving end of personal questions, is it?”
Hadrian leaned back in his chair and played with the stem of his wine glass while he surveyed me. “I think I may have underestimated you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you’re as tenacious as I am. So, you’re a talented linguist. How did you learn to speak three languages?”
“How did you learn to speak five?” I countered.
He sighed. “And here I’d hoped that after a long day of travel you’d be a little more…”
“Malleable?”
“Forthcoming,” he corrected. “You’re a conundrum. The day we met at the Bar and Restaurant, you were flirtatious and confident. The night at The Mansion you were terrified—which I now know was because it was your first event. You said there wasn’t money growing up for you to enjoy the finer things in life, and yet your table manners are perfect, like you come from a wealthy family.”
He leaned forward. “You’re evasive in conversation, and the only time I feel like I truly have a grasp on who you are is when you’re in my bed. And for a man who reads people, for a man who knows when people are lying, I know there’s something you’re not saying. Something big.”
His words terrified me. No matter how much I thought I could bury my past and have it stay there, I seemed to wear it like a badge for Hadrian to see. And even though he didn’t know exactly what I was hiding from him—from the world—Hadrian wasn’t a man who would let it go.
He was relentless, and he wouldn’t be happy with anything less than my complete and utter surrender. Not just in his bed, but in life, too. He’d never stop asking questions, he’d never stop digging. I was a puzzle he had to piece together.
“Can’t it be enough?” I asked, meeting his eyes. “Just being together physically.”
“You tell me.” His eyes blazed with heat. “I’m not the only one who wants questions answered.”
I nodded slowly. “You’re right. I am curious about you, Hadrian. Why were you at The Mansion if you weren’t there to spend your night with a woman? Why do you live on an island off the coast of Shetland when Lerwick looked absolutely adorable and is clearly remote already? Why is your home built into the side of a mountain? And how do you have so much money that you can throw it away on a girl you don’t even know?”
Silence reigned between us and then he suddenly smiled.
I did not like that smile. It was a smile of victory.
Hadrian arched a brow. “You are no better at the art of subtle conversation than I am. How the hell were you ever planning on being a Rex girl?”
I glared. “I have no problem conversing with other people. My problem is you.”
He said nothing and then he began to eat, but his gaze remained on me. A shield had been erected and his expression was unusually stoic.
“Why do you bring out the worst in me?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t bring out the worst in you. I bring out the honesty in you. And I think you haven’t been honest with yourself in a very long time. If ever.”
“You are exceedingly arrogant. Not to mention presumptuous. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
“Trying to fluster me enough into telling you all my deep and dark secrets.”
“You have deep and dark secrets?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Eat your lobster, Hadrian,” I groused.
We devoured our food as the boat rocked gently from side to side and the waves lapped at the hulls. It was as much about eating as it was about having something to do. I didn’t like the uneasiness that had sprung up between us. It felt like we were on uneven ground, but I wouldn’t be intimidated into answering questions about myself.
“The nuns taught me,” he said, crushing the silence.
My eyes flew to his. His face was stoic, unyielding.
“You were taught by nuns?” I asked. “So was I.”
He shook his head. “I was raised by them.”
I frowned in clear lack of understanding.
“I’m an orphan, Eden.”
My eyes widened in surprise. He’d opened himself up, just a bit, giving me a tiny glimmer into his past.
It felt uncharitable not to give him something in return.
“I’m an orphan too.” I took a sip of my wine. “My mother’s first language was Italian. It was all we spoke in the house when I was growing up. She was an immigrant and didn’t speak English well for some time.”
“And French?”
“I taught myself French last year,” I evaded. I suddenly felt my stomach lurch and hastily set my fork down.
His eyebrows snapped together. “Eden? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I feel funny.”
“Funny like you’re having an allergic reaction, or funny like—”
“Seasick!” I quickly pushed back from the table, my hand going to my mouth, and then I ran from the salon. I sprinted downstairs, having no idea where I was going, and no sooner had I found a bathroom than I upchucked the rich lobster.
Nausea swam in my belly and I felt clammy and sweaty. I managed to slide across the floor to close the bathroom door and lock it.
I threw up again and groaned.
“Eden,” Hadrian commanded a few moments later through the door, trying to turn the doorknob to enter. “Let me in.”
“No,” I moaned. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I have something that will settle your stomach. I’ve got some sparkling water and an anti-nausea pill which works almost instantly.”
“But how am I suppose
d to keep them down if I’m vomiting every—” My head went back over the toilet, effectively proving my point.
“Eden,” he barked. “Open the damn door.”
I reluctantly dragged myself across the floor and unlocked the door. I didn’t bother getting up, but I did move out of the way so it wouldn’t hit me when he opened it.
Hadrian loomed. His crisp white shirt was open at the collar, his sleeves rolled up.
I stared at his boat shoes while trying not to embarrass myself by throwing up in his presence.
“You look like hell,” he said lightly.
“Screw you.” I immediately covered my mouth—not to stop the spewing of my curses, but the spewing of the contents of my stomach.
He crouched down next to me and held out the glass of sparkling water. “Drink this. And take this.” He plopped a tiny pill into my hand. “It works well, but it will make you drowsy.”
I did as he said and downed it with some water, wanting anything to stop the rolling of my stomach.
My belly reeled, but I closed my eyes and willed it to settle.
“This isn’t even choppy water, and we’re on an eighty-foot catamaran,” he said in wry amusement. “How in the world are you seasick?”
“Not all of us are modern day Vikings born to sail the open sea.”
Hadrian chuckled. He leaned past me and turned on the shower. I managed to get some more water down—and it stayed down.
“So. A Viking?” Hadrian teased.
I glared at him, which only made him grin.
“Do you have fantasies of me wearing animal pelts?” he tormented.
“Oh God. Stop,” I muttered, closing my eyes. “I knew you’d give me hell as soon as I said it.”
He outright laughed. “The shower is ready,” he said, taking the glass away from me and setting it on the counter next to the sink. He then helped me stand, and before I could tell him not to, he began stripping me out of my clothes.
“What are you doing? I’m not an invalid.”
“Humor me,” he demanded.
“Fine, but you have to leave me to bathe in private.”
“Why?”
“Pride.”
He didn’t bother replying and continued to undress me. He took my jeans off, but he left my lace thong alone. He urged the sweater over my head and then removed my camisole.
There was no reason to blush over my nudity, but I did blush when I managed to look in the mirror and see my reflection. Ashen complexion, limp hair damp at the temples.
I slithered out of my thong and tossed it aside before taking his hand and letting him help me into the shower. I breathed a sigh of relief when I leaned against the wall, the water coming down hot and steamy over my body.
Hadrian started removing his clothes.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my gaze riveted on the skin he was baring.
He cocked his head to the side. “Getting naked. Obviously.”
“Stop right there,” I commanded him, holding up my hand when he stood before me completely and gloriously nude.
He was a sight to behold. Long angular lines, muscles, scar.
“Stop? Why?” Hadrian asked.
“You are not climbing in this shower with me.”
“Why not? Do you still feel sick? The medication should’ve started working by now.”
“The pill worked.” I nibbled my lip. “You have to promise not to kiss me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” I blurted out. “And I just”—I waved my hand in the direction of the toilet—“many times.”
Without a comment, he marched to the sink, pulled open a drawer and took out a brand-new toothbrush. He tore off the wrapper and then doused it with toothpaste, ran it under the sink, and then brought it to me.
“Brush your teeth, Eden. And I promise not to kiss you. That’s not what this is about.”
I took the toothbrush and scrubbed my teeth and tongue, turning around so he could only see my backside, somehow embarrassed that a man who had fucked me would watch me brush my teeth.
Hadrian took the toothbrush from me when I was done and then got into the shower, settling himself behind me.
I turned to face him. My finger traced the scar along his abdomen. His skin danced under my touch.
“Knife,” he said gruffly.
“I didn’t ask,” I whispered.
“You didn’t have to.”
I looked up to stare at him, like I was truly seeing him for the first time.
“Who are you, Hadrian?”
His eyes were intense as they bored into mine. His hand reached out to touch my jaw. “A man with his own past.”
Hadrian’s thumb grazed my bottom lip and a pang of lust slid down my belly to settle between my legs.
“Lean back against me,” he said gruffly.
I reluctantly turned around and settled against him, resting my head on his chest as we stood with the hot water running over us. He made no move to do anything other than cradle me from behind.
He gently nudged me forward and then squirted shampoo from a pump attached to the wall into his hands. “Let me wash your hair.”
He was taking care of me in his commanding fashion, but I couldn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.
“Will you tell me more? About your childhood?” I asked as his hands began to massage my head and suds foamed in my hair.
He brushed his lips along the curve of my shoulder. “No. Not right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because you haven’t earned it.”
“Earned it?” I whipped my head around, staring at him as shampoo bubbles dribbled down my temples and neck. “You don’t mean I have to—”
“For God’s sake, woman,” he muttered. “I just meant I’m not going to tell you everything there is to know about me when you refuse to do the same.”
“That’s emotional blackmail!”
“Aye,” he said, completely unperturbed by my accusation.
His blunt fingers massaged my scalp and I couldn’t help the slight moan of pleasure from escaping my lips.
After a stretch of silence, he said, “You weren’t interested in my cufflinks or my watch.”
I frowned. “What? Were you expecting me to rob you after you’d fallen asleep or something?”
He laughed. “No. I just mean—I’m wealthy, aye. And it didn’t matter to you. My wealth, my diamond cufflinks, my two-hundred-thousand-dollar watch, you didn’t even notice. You didn’t notice when we met in the Bar and Restaurant and you didn’t notice the night we spent together.”
I blinked. “You spent two hundred thousand dollars on a watch?”
“It’s a Roger Smith,” he answered gruffly. “I offered you a million dollars and you acted like—I don’t even know. There was no calculating gleam in your eye. You weren’t going to ask for more. You acted like…well, you weren’t worth a million dollars. The Rex world is glamourous and elite, and it didn’t turn your head. The only time you were really impressed was when you stepped foot on my yacht.”
“A yacht is in-your-face wealth, Hadrian.”
“So is a private jet.”
“I expected the jet. Businessmen have jets. I didn’t expect the yacht. Not on this grand scale. I’m starting to think you have more money than sense.”
“You know why I offered you a six-month contract?”
“Because you can’t be bothered to date?” I quipped.
“Because your reaction to me wasn’t staged or faked.” He paused for a moment and then went on, “You weren’t born to be a Rex girl, Eden. You won’t be able to seduce and flirt and pretend that you feel nothing. You feel far too much, so you try feeling nothing at all, and you don’t seek out emotional contact.”
I moved away from him so I could rinse the shampoo out of my hair, but also to compose myself.
Hadrian might’ve asked questions, but he didn’t need to; not when he clearly saw who I was.
It did
n’t matter that I called myself Eden. Eden was a sham, a shell.
“Am I that easy to read?” I asked, finally opening my eyes and meeting his gaze.
“To those who care enough to pay attention, aye.”
“And you paid attention.”
His hands moved to my tense shoulders.
I pushed away from him so I could leave the shower. A towel hung on the rack and I quickly grabbed it and wrapped it around myself, not even bothering to dry off. I just wanted to get away from Hadrian.
“Are you feeling better?” Hadrian asked as he climbed out of the shower, tacitly agreeing to change the subject. Water sluiced down his muscular body, making me want to drag him to bed.
I thought about his question. My skin was flushed and warm from the shower, and dried sweat no longer clung to my body. “Yeah. I feel better.”
“Are you drowsy yet?”
“Not yet.”
He wrapped a towel around his waist. His damp skin glistened, and in spite of pushing him away moments ago, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to caress him.
“I love it when you touch me,” he said, his brogue enveloping me in a sensual haze.
“I can’t seem to stop,” I admitted. I slid my hands up and down his chest. My arm suddenly felt heavy.
Hadrian stepped toward me and scooped me up into his arms.
I nuzzled my cheek against his warm skin. “I think picking me up is your signature move.”
He chuckled. “I like carrying you.”
“I like being carried,” I admitted.
“I love when you fight, Eden. But damn if I don’t love your surrender.”
“I’m not surrendering,” I protested lamely. “I’m just—using you for your brute strength.”
He laughed and then stepped out of the bathroom with me and set me down on the bed. Hadrian managed to get the towel off me and then slid the covers up around my shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he said, brushing a tender kiss to my shoulder.
“Why are you sorry?” I asked. My eyes were closing, and I was helpless to keep them open.
“If I thought you’d get seasick, we would’ve taken the helicopter.”
“More money than sense,” I murmured into the pillow before drifting off to sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
